


Natural Form

by little_specificity



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dresses, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_specificity/pseuds/little_specificity
Summary: Mal is the new dressmaker in town and Ariadne quickly becomes her favorite client.
Relationships: Ariadne/Mal Cobb
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12
Collections: Secret Saito 2020





	Natural Form

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/gifts).



> This is one of my two gifts for QueenThayet, with love.

Every time she stood in Mal's shop, in front of a wide mirror with mannequins by her side, Ariadne felt naked. The first times it was out of nervousness: she had never experienced being the focus of someone’s attention like that before. When Mal took in her curves, measured her body and dreamed up sophisticated dresses for her, Ariadne felt as if, if Mal desired to, she could see deep into her heart. But as time passed and Ariadne became Mal’s favorite customer, Ariadne would feel naked as a canvas, a recipient for Mal’s genius and hers to play with. And other times, like a work of art under the other woman's eyes.

When she first attended the dressmaker's store by her mother's insistence, a lump in her throat and a blush in her cheeks settled as soon as she saw Mallorie. Mal, as she insisted on being called, was the new French dressmaker all Ariadne's mother's friends were raving about. 

“She has magic hands”, they would say, “she can make even the more extravagant dresses.”

Ariadne was reluctant to give the experience a try. Usually, she refused to take part in what her mother expected of her: to attend balls, to work on her embroidery skills and to find a man from a good family to wed. Ariadne could see the appeal of that life, truly, but every time she imagined her future she pictured a small secluded cottage in the countryside, a place in which she could get dirty in a garden and recite her indecent poetry out loud.

But even patient, sweet Ariadne had limits, she knew, and decided to cave in to avoid conflict. 

Mallorie's shop was small but luxurious, with only the right amount of sunlight to cast gentle shadows all around and to allow the dressmaker to see properly. Ariadne could understand why her mother liked the place so much: it had an air of exclusivity, of prestige. Every little detail of the store seemed meticulously planned, every decoration piece carefully curated.

And when Mallorie walked gracefully towards mother and daughter to greet them, Ariadne could also understand why her mother liked Mal. She was a beautiful, confident and gentle-looking young woman, the kind that was most likely used to attract admiration and envy alike from those around her. Ariadne felt instantly enraptured by her, hopeless at the woman's magnetism, for different reasons than her mother's. A different perspective, to be precise.

Countless times, since their very first meeting, Ariadne had watched Mal closely. She saw her effortlessly elegant and efficient moves as she worked doing what she loved, moving quickly without looking like she was in a hurry, how she graciously entertained her clients and made everyone gravitate towards her. Ariadne couldn't help but completely ignore the lavish dresses around them, the exotic fabrics, the chatter. All that mattered, was the way Mal's eyes gleamed when their gazes encountered.

Things were a little different when Ariadne and her were alone. She still was as lovely as the protagonist of a classic romance novel and as magical as the princesses Ariadne tried to draw when she was little; it was something else entirely. Her tone of voice became slightly lower, her hands more hesitant, her breathing calmer. The ambient felt charged with energy, with the delightful scent of Mal's perfume.

As Ariadne stood in her undergarments, Mal would take her time to take the measurements that she already knew by memory after the great number of gorgeous dresses she had made for the girl. She would grab several types of fabrics of different colors, textures, patterns and hold them next to Ariadne's face.

"This would look lovely on you," she would whisper, as though she had any reason to. 

Then a smile that bordered on conspiratory would appear on her lips, and she would walk behind Ariadne as to not obstruct her vision of the mirror. Ariadne could feel the warmth from the other woman's body on her back every time and a goosebump settling softly in her spine as Mal put a hand on her shoulder.

"See?" Mal would whisper again, even softer and nearer to Ariadne's ear, while she held the piece of fabric next to the flustered and hopelessly aroused girl's face. "Exquisite."

But Ariadne's favorite days were when Mal asked her to go to her shop, late in the afternoon, to help her with her personal designs. Ariadne's mother was thrilled, of course, that her girl was modeling for such a talented and refined designer. 

"That is the kind of friends I want you to have," the woman would say as they strolled in their house's gigantic garden, as servants rushed to get dinner ready to meet Ariadne's parents' standards. "Not silly boys or strange-looking women like the ones you associate with. Mallorie is a good influence on you."

If she only knew, Ariadne thought with a smile, that when Mal asked her to come to her place at the late hours they didn't have tea or chatted amicably. If she only knew of the letters, the ones exchanged between the young women and the ones from Mal's parents in France, owners of a pretty cottage waiting for their arrival. Dresses with patterned fabrics, bustles and tight corsets were the least important thing in Ariadne's mind when she had Mal for herself, with no clients waiting in the other room or errands to run. Only the mannequins, the mirrors and the drawings on the walls were witnesses of their passion, whispered promises and gentle fingers dancing tenderly on soft, warm skin.

Ariadne often felt naked under Mal's eyes, like a canvas or a work of art, but when their bodies were tangled under silky sheets and their lips would touch, Ariadne felt free.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that my lovely new recipient liked the story. And that the fact that I don't know shit about the Victorian Era wasn't noticeable, but I had this specific mental image that I needed to write about.
> 
> [ Come say hi on my Tumblr!](https://little-specificity.tumblr.com)


End file.
